


come as you are

by scarlettblush



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-03
Updated: 2011-11-01
Packaged: 2017-10-22 04:18:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/233666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarlettblush/pseuds/scarlettblush
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hospital AU. The one where Charles unknowingly woos a coma patient with Pride and Prejudice. Years later, they meet again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In response to this prompt: Charles starts reading Austen to a coma patient. Years later the patient works at Xavier's Medical Institute. He's grumpy and sadistic, though he has a soft spot for Austen. When he closes his eyes, he can hear a voice reading the words to him. One day, he hears that voice. This time it's not from inside his head.
> 
> Note: Thank you to [lathaina](http://lathaina.livejournal.com//) for looking over the first part! My love for [sirona-gs](http://sirona-gs.livejournal.com/) knows no bounds. Guys, guys, this would be completely crap without her. Thank you for all the wonderful help you gave me. <3
> 
> I was very fortunate while writing this on the meme, because I received some gorgeous artwork by the wonderful [keio](http://keio.livejournal.com/). They're linked throughout the story, so please do take a look at them, and let her know what you think! :D

 

Charles loves his mother. He really does. She's done her best by him. She is reliable and has taken care of him as well as she can--the endless stream of boyfriends is perhaps something he could do without. The fact that she forgets that she has a son who is still a child despite how mature he sounds, is another thing he could live without too. But she’s his mother and so he loves her as much as a teenager could.

But when she asks him, well, demands of him to attend a dinner party she’s hosting in the evening, he declines her request. And when that doesn’t work, he lies to her, claiming he has promised to help out at the hospital and the head nurse will be expecting him at the children’s ward. It’s not that he doesn’t want to be in the company of Mother and her high society friends, with their elegance and sophistication as they wax poetic about her diamonds.

But he knows what _she’s_ like.

It’s just another opportunity for her to show off her prodigious son, the only source of comfort in her bleak life. Sometimes it’s hard for him to not scoff at this, because life would be better if she could just stop living in the past and notice what’s in front of her.

So he lies and concocts a story that, if he’s to be honest, he would rather not carry out.  But for the sake of his sanity he’s willing to try.

 

****

The Xavier Medical Institute was built in 1909 by his grandfather.

It had stood tall and imposing even back then, with its sleek finishings and state-of-the-art machinery.  It was built as part of a scheme to not only improve conditions and provide private healthcare, but for poor immigrants to have steady work as part of the labour workforce.

It’s still tall and imposing as ever, even as it approaches its hundredth year.

The glass doors slide open as Charles crosses the threshold and enters the building, bag slung over his shoulder while the security guard scans his ID card.

There are over ten floors in the main building, with four separate buildings spread across the span of nearly twenty-five acres. The children’s ward resides on the west side.

He greets the receptionist at the entrance desk once he’s cleared through.

‘Hello Nicole,’ he says warmly. ‘Had a nice day so far?’ he asks as he folds his arms over the polished wood of the tall front desk.

Nicole’s young, just a few years older than Charles, and speaks with a fantastic New Jersey accent that Charles wishes he could imitate.

She rolls her eyes and snorts. ‘As nice as it can get in here. I’ve just had to deal with a,’ she puts on a high pitched voice, ‘Mrs Rodriguez, who finds our hospital gown tacky. Not up to her standards,’ Nicole says with a huff

The great thing about Nicole is that she speaks her mind. Despite the fact that Charles could be a potential owner of this place, she doesn’t seem to give a damn.

It’s quite refreshing.

‘So I told her, it’s either that, Mrs Rodriguez, or nothing . Of course, that didn’t go over too well.’ She shrugs. ‘So what brings you here, Charles?’ she enquires, getting up  to check the filing cabinet behind her.

He’s not sure if he’s technically allowed to just volunteer himself without informing the head nurse at least. It’s worth trying, though.

‘Um, I wanted to help out in the children’s ward today.’

‘Shouldn’t you be out, having fun and enjoying your holidays? You’re only fourteen you know,’’ she mutters, flicking through patient files.

Charles looks down at the floor for a moment, because what can he say? It sucks at home, there’s nothing to do there besides watching Mother play a charade of a life. So he leaves these little titbits of his life.

‘I just wanted to hang out with some of the kids. Can I go?’

She looks up from her papers and watches him intently, cocking her head to the side. She must see something in his expression because she smiles. ‘Yeah, sure, kid. I’ll send a message over to let them know you’re coming.’

 

****

   
Part of the charm of the children’s ward is that it feels less like a section of a hospital and more like a child’s playroom. It’s bright and cheerful, painted with warm colours and different scenes on each wall.

There are numbers painted on the floor for hopscotch. Rockets, moons and stars decorating the entrance hall at the front. Along with this are toys scattered around the floor and numerous beds. They even have a classroom staffed by teachers on the far end for some of the older kids, and a Disney room on the floor above for the girls.

Charles is bent over, pretending to be Snake as a nurse reads The Gruffalo, hissing his way across the floor with as much dignity as one can muster, except it’s hard with James laughing at him, his IV bag on the pole as it trails behind him, while he follows Charles.

James is five and has a rare strain of scarlet fever, a blotchy rash still covering his arms and torso.

Mary, the head nurse, comes in, shaking her head at his antics.

‘Come on, Mr Charles. It’s time to go.  Otherwise your mother will start calling again.’

All the children groan at this, shuffling over to his side and hugging the life out of him.

‘Please don’t go,’ one boy says, bottom lip trembling like his world will end if Charles refuses to stay. But Charles happens to know that he’s a sneaky little trouble maker. He still shudders at the memory of rotten pudding at the bottom of his shoes.

But Charles has to agree, he can't risk his mother’s wrath all over again.

 

****

It’s on the way back that he sees him.

Mary says not to go. This only heightens his interest. It’s eerily silent in the room, the sharp orange and red rays of the setting sun lingering in the sterile space.

‘Poor boy,’ Mary says.

‘What happened?’ His tone is hesitant, the question whispered.

‘He fell onto the tracks and got hit by a train. The doctors say he’s awfully lucky to have survived.’

He can’t really help it, doesn’t know what pulls him in, but he enters the room and walks hesitantly up to the silent body.

‘So he’s OK now?’ Charles asks, running a finger across the boy's cheek before pushing his hair from his forehead.

Mary is still standing at the door. ‘No, not really. They don’t know when he’ll come out of it. He’s been like this for three weeks now, but we’re hopeful. Awful thing though, to happen to someone so young. I think he’s only eighteen, maybe nineteen.’

Something twinges inside Charles’ chest, a distant ache that’s hard to pinpoint. He doesn’t know what possesses him to say the words, but they come out, regardless.

He looks at her. ‘Can I stay here with him? Just for a little while?’ She’s frowning at him now. ‘[He seems awfully lonely, and nobody deserves that](http://fassyfaceavoythere.tumblr.com/post/7973630248/1st-meeting-scene-from-come-as-you-are-and-i),’ he adds, biting his lip in worry.

She shakes her head and lets out a tired sigh. ‘All right. But it’s on your head if you get in trouble.’

Charles smiles at her as she leaves the room and takes a seat in the chair next to the bed. He puts his bag down and starts to search for something he hopes is still there.

And so, it begins.

****

Charles’ love affair with Jane began with his sister.

Well, technically it’s Mother who brings her to Charles’ attention. When his father dies, and Mother finds herself with endless time and nothing to do, she starts to read .

It’s a frightening prospect, because she doesn’t read. Not once has Charles ever seen Mother pick up a book, except for The 17 Day Diet Workbook which she threw in the bin, claiming it to be blasphemy.

She attempts Doyle first before branding it complicated. Then she  tries to decipher Brontë , and finds it to be ‘too bleak, Charles, it’s as if they’re all bipolar or something,’ though he finds she is partial to Heathcliff.

Then she falls upon Austen.

He finds Sense and Sensibility on the dining table one day and thinks she’s discovered another author to criticise because, really, it’s all that she seems to do. Until the following day when she starts waxing on about Brandon-‘ Oh Charles, my heart breaks for him, and that Marianne! ’

Which is honestly nothing compared to what she starts to say when she discovers Mr Darcy.

Mr Darcy.

It’s all fine and dandy when she starts to read it, but it’s Colin Firth who’s made Charles want to scream bloody murder on quite a few occasions. She watches the adaptation of it, and when he dives into the lake before emerging, shirt wet and clinging to his body, she sighs longingly.

‘Oh, my. He looks like a sea god, Charles, just look at him.’

Privately Charles can’t help but think he looks more like the Loch Ness monster with a rather hairy chest.

But when Charles is twelve and Mother adopts a young girl, Raven, he suddenly finds himself with a sister who’s five years younger than him, and refuses to sleep unless he reads her something.

So Charles sneaks in the copy of Pride and Prejudice because he hasn’t got any children’s books, and he wants her to fall asleep as fast as she can. Otherwise she’s a hyperactive terror.

It works. She’s asleep within five minutes. What he doesn’t expect is to fall in love with Jane Austen, and Mr Darcy along the way, too.

 

****

Charles licks his fingertip and flips to the next page, before continuing, ‘You are too generous to trifle with me.’ Charles sighs a little, because this is his favourite part. ‘If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on-’ He’s cut off by another voice.

‘Who are you talking to?’

Charles looks up from his battered copy of Pride and Prejudice . Raven is standing in the doorway, a bald Barbie doll in one hand and blue paint smeared all over her white shorts and sneakers. She’s going through a football phase.

He feels the blood rushing to his cheeks and hopes she can’t tell.

‘Nothing,’ he says quickly, stuffing the book back into his bag before slinging it over his shoulder.

Raven shakes her head. ‘Nope. You were doing something. I know you were.’

She comes inside and stands by the bed. ‘Were you telling him a secret?’ Her voice is a soft whisper because even she knows that sometimes people aren’t just sleeping here. He brought her with him so she could play with some of the other kids. Without Charles home, she has nobody. But if he tells her, she’ll know that Mother’s copy hasn’t really gone missing, it’s just conveniently, by pure chance, been in Charles’ possession for the past two years.

When Charles shakes his head, and waves his hand towards the door, she gives him a dark look. ‘If you don’t tell me, I’m gonna tell Mom about it,’ she says stubbornly.

It’s surprising what a sneaky thing she can be when she wants to.

He lets out a defeated sigh. It’s either this or listen to her complain non-stop on the way home.

‘Ok,’ he says, dropping his bag back down on the floor. ‘But it’s a secret. You can’t tell Mother about it,’ he adds sternly.

She nods her head eagerly and makes a cross over her heart. ‘Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye. Promise.’

Then she leans over the boy in the bed, watching his face intently, doll resting next to his left arm.

‘What’s his name?’ she asks.

And Charles, without even thinking, rubs his thumb over the boy’s brow, wondering what colour his eyes could possibly be.

‘Erik.’

****

 

According to Mother, challenges are presented in everything. If there were no challenges or sacrifices, then one could never grow and learn.

Charles tries to remember that as time passes. Hours soon turn to days, and those slowly bleed into weeks.

His break lasts for three weeks. After this he’ll return to school for another semester. Funny thing is, he usually doesn’t mind returning to a place where the library is a vast, never-ending maze, and the smell of knowledge lingers untouched, waiting for him. He looks forward to it, though it’s difficult sometimes with Raven clutching his legs and sobbing for him not to leave her.

The situation is different this time; it’s much harder, more difficult to think of. Because the odd thing is, somehow, unexpectedly, he’s fallen into a routine.

He’s never had a routine. Never had a tradition, one that he’s unknowingly stumbled and tripped into, yet forgotten that it was even a routine.

But he has.

And he can’t let go of it.

****

   
His days begin with working on essays, checking for references and catching up on books. Sometimes he’ll spend the morning in the library hunting for a book that he doesn’t already have, occasionally with Raven in tow, trying to kick the shelves down, or whistling between bookshelves to distract the librarian. Sometimes she’ll need to stay at home with Azazel, her babysitter. For lunch they might stop at Pizza Hut because Raven will insist.

‘Or I’ll tell Erik you didn’t take me,’ her retort sharp and snippy.

Times like these Charles regrets ever letting her in on his secret.

The evenings are spent at the hospital. Sometimes they might just go in the afternoon, but those occasions are rare. He’ll tend to leave Raven with the other kids, but she joins him more often these days, sitting quietly on the floor playing with her dolls. Or lulled to sleep in his lap by the soft cadence of his voice, ‘'had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner.' Those were your words. You know not, you can scarcely conceive, how they have tortured me;— though it was some time, I confess, before I was reasonable enough to . ...’ and Erik will continue to sleep for however long.

Charles doesn’t know much about Erik. Even finding out his name took a little bit of sneaking.

What he does know is that only one person has visited him, and according to Mary that was his mother. Charles has never seen her. He doesn’t even know when it happened, but somehow he missed it, for which a part of him is glad. Erik’s mother would probably think he’s a creepy stalker.  Who else reads Austen to strangers? Yet he secretly wishes he did meet her; he wants to know more about this boy who he’s been serenading, according to Mary, with quotes from Mr Darcy.

 

****

Raven swings their hands back and forth as they wait patiently until they reach their floor. It’s hot and humid in the elevator, almost sticky like fresh honey trickling through your fingers. The old man in front of them exits the elevator, one stop before theirs, humming the tune to Scooby-Doo. Raven starts snickering.

They reach their floor and walk towards the room. He can practically feel Raven thrumming with excitement.

It’s become their secret.

Charles walks into the now-familiar room before freezing. There’s a lady sitting to the left in a grey cardigan, her hair falling in loose curls behind her. She looks like she’s been crying, and that’s when Charles realises with fear that this must be the elusive woman who is Erik’s mother.

Raven tugs at his arm. ‘Come on Charles, I need to go-‘ but she stops, peeks over his arm and sees the other woman. ‘Oh,’ she says.

Exactly.

Erik’s mother frowns at them. ‘I’m sorry, was there something you needed? Is it the doctor?’ she asks, starting to rise from her seat.

He quickly shakes his head, ‘Oh, no. No.’ He stops, not knowing what else to say. There’s a thick, suffocating feeling in the room, or maybe it’s just him. ‘We were just-’

But Raven cuts him off, somehow finding her voice again. ‘We’re here to read,’ she explains, voice tinged with barely contained excitement.

Shit. This is not how it’s supposed to go.

She looks at them, confused. ‘To read? What do you mean?’ She’s looking at Raven.

‘We come here to read to Erik. Well, Charles reads to him.’ Both of them look up at him. ‘He’s reading Pride and Prejudgetis,’ she adds, botching the title along the way.

Charles flushes, all the blood rushing to his cheeks. He’s amazed his limbs are even functioning. Erik’s mother looks at him, a slight appraisal to her features.

She leans back in her chair. ‘I see.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he offers because he doesn’t know what else to say. ‘I didn’t know if he had any visitors, and I thought maybe I could read to him.’

‘And Erik likes to listen,’ Raven chimes in.

Charles wants to throttle her.

She smiles all of a sudden. It’s brittle and doesn’t light up her face, but that’s hard to expect in her situation. Raven smiles happily at her, pleased with herself.

‘What’s your name?’ She’s watching Charles now.

‘Charles.’

‘Well, Charles, why don’t you come and take a seat.’ She gestures to her left, to the extra chair. ‘I’m glad you were here. It can get lonely.’ Her eyes flicker back to Erik. ‘I don’t mind that you’re reading to him, I’m grateful for it. I’d be happy if you carried on.’ Her voice is soft and hesitant. Charles is afraid he might just break this moment that they’re having.

But he nods and sits down, taking his book out, with Raven taking her customary seat in his lap.

Then he starts to read.

‘I cannot fix on the hour, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had....’

They sit together, Erik’s mother looking out the window while Charles continues reading, the words ghosting over their skin. Erik’s body lies between them, a silent merger.

 

****

 

The next day, Raven skips her way to the room, and Charles is secretly giddy with excitement, because today's his birthday and they can finally begin Sense and Sensibility.

But when they get to the room, Erik is gone.

 

****


	2. Chapter 2

The funny thing about being comatose for weeks on end is how he doesn’t realise that time has passed. Lives have moved on. Hours have ticked away and it’s suddenly hotter than he remembers it being.

Every time Erik wakes up, it’s to a fractured, blurry vision. His mouth is always filled with a bitter taste and his head throbs like someone has been hammering away at it.

But it’s to be expected.

His limbs are twitching and his mind itching to just move, walk about, to do something. The desire to single-mindedly focus on something is potent and almost lethal. But he’s been cooped up inside, having been sedated and moved to another hospital once he’d shown signs of consciousness. Turns out he’s had, _‘_ extensive internal injuries, we had to operate on you again, _’_ the doctor had explained to him.

Erik had secretly wanted to flip him the bird because, seriously, is he ever going to be allowed back home?

 

****

He spends his days getting monitored and moving around as much as his body permits him. Before, they used to move him every two hours from side to side; sometimes, if possible, to a chair to get his body moving.

He’s regained control of his body now, it’s just a matter of waiting for his doctor to declare him fit and stable. The rest of his time is spent watching the nurses flutter in and out, muttering about the latest escapades of Dawson’s Creek.

‘Oh, did you see Joey and Dawson kiss last night? It was so romantic, _’_ he overhears a blonde nurse say with a longing sigh to the janitor.

He can’t quite believe this is what his life has come to.

****

  
It’s not easy.

Mama is quietly watching him all the time with a focused gaze, wondering if he’s going to show signs of, _God knows_ , depression, or possibly suicide. It’s like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, as if Erik will be the one to do it.

She’ll come in and visit him every day in the evenings after work, always with a frown on her face. When she spots him lying there, the exact same way she left him the day before, it’s almost palpable the way relief breaks out across her face, though she tries her very hardest to act oblivious.

Then there are the nights which are sticky, hot and humid. He dreams of distorted scenes, hard to pinpoint and difficult to decipher. Sometimes he thinks he can hear someone speaking to him, a hushed reverent tone, the voice still washing over him even after he’s woken up.

Maybe he is going mad.

****

Mama is watching him from the corner of her eye, waiting.

He resists very hard rolling his eyes at her. It’s getting ridiculous now. He’d just like to go home. She’s reading _Good Gardening_ \- the caption _Resistance Is Fertile_ mocking him. He folds his arms and stares up at the ceiling. _Jesus fuck._

‘Stop being such a child,’ she says. ‘Here.’ Before he can even say anything, she’s standing right next to his bed, a battered old book in her hands.

For a moment Erik stares at it. What does she want him to do with it? She thrusts it towards him. He leans forward and notes the cursive writing, and then reads the title - Pride and Prejudice. He looks up at her in bewilderment.

 _Fucking hell,_ she’s spending too much time with those nurses.

When she says nothing, he thinks he'd better explain. ‘What do you want me to do with it?’ He is genuinely confused.

She stands up a little straighter, eyes narrowed at him like she’s getting ready for a fight. In these moments he sees where he gets his little quirks from. ‘I want you to read it, Erik.’

He thinks she must be kidding. Erik’s not a reader, and she knows this. The only thing he would read was Frankenstein _,_ and that was when he was fifteen. Still, she tosses it next to him.

‘It’s either that or nothing.’ She turns around, making her way back to her seat. ‘And you can stop sulking, we’re keeping you here for your benefit, you know,’ she finishes, taking her seat and resuming to read.

There’s a stretch of silence.

He tentatively picks up the book.

It’s frayed around the edges, the spine creased with use, and he wonders if she took it out of the library. He’s never pegged her as a fond reader of the classics. He flips it open, mindful of its deteriorating state. There’s no library stamp inside, only a scruffy _CFX_ scribbled in the corner. He flips to the back, and on the inside of the cover somebody has stuck a sticker of a raven.

‘Where’d you get this from?’ he asks, curious.

It’s quiet. He figures she’s too engrossed in the advantages of manure to realise he has spoken. But she does answer, eventually. ‘Somebody forgot it. So I picked it up and I was going to return it to them, but, well.’ She sighs. ‘Never mind.’ She looks back at her page, ending any further explanations.

Erik flips back to the front, skips the Foreword, thinks _fuck it_ , and starts to read. A soft, hesitant voice begins to narrate in his mind.

And so, it begins.

****

  
It’s a funny thing, in retrospect, the way he devours every book he can get his hands on after that. He reads Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre- he’s developed a fondness for Mr Rochester, bastard that he is - before divulging into The Great Gatsby and Gone with the Wind _._

Most of all though, he hunts for Austen like a drug addict looking for a fix.

It’s quite disturbing, to be frank.

****

  
_2011_

Erik’s watching Summers.

Summers is staring at the vending machine with a funny expression on his face, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, like he’s waiting for something. Alex Summers, Erik had decided the minute he saw him, was the perfect blond poster boy for flavoured condoms. Why he’d enrolled onto the surgical residency program was beyond Erik’s understanding. But luckily Hank’s his on-call resident, so Erik doesn’t have to deal with him too much.

Summers swivels his head around, checking if the coast is clear. He then gives the machine a few swift kicks. When that doesn’t seem to work, he crouches down and sticks his hand through the flap. It’s a futile attempt at trying to grasp whatever it is that’s gotten stuck.

Because he’s a bastard, this is when Erik makes his presence known.

‘Summers,’ he barks out. 'What the hell are you doing?'

The kid jerks back, hand still stuck inside, whipping his head around in Erik’s direction.

‘Doctor Lehnsherr, um,’ he tries to tug his hand out. ‘What are you doing here?’

Erik raises an eyebrow at this. ‘I work here. I’m also the attending neurosurgeon, in case you’ve forgotten.’ He leans against the vending machine. Prime position for a good view. ‘What exactly are you doing?’ he asks.

Alex flushes, two pink spots forming on his cheeks. ‘Uh, this isn’t what it looks like. I was just,’ and then he tries to yank out his arm, and maybe luck is on his side because it comes out relatively unscathed. ‘My Milky Way bar got stuck, it won’t come out,’ he explains pathetically, rising from the floor.

He looks mournfully at the chocolate bar caught in the springs.

Erik rolls his eyes.

_Christ._

‘You do not go around sticking body parts into functional machines, Summers. It’s,’ he pauses, searching for the right word, ‘unbecoming, extremely unbecoming for a boy like you,’ he narrows his eyes at Summers’ sceptical look.

Summers’ pager starts beeping at that exact moment. He gives Erik an apologetic smile before running like the wind in the opposite direction.

Erik waits a moment, before walking around and pulling the plug out and then slotting it back in. The machine makes a beep, the lights come back on and the Milky Way bar falls down to the bottom.

He pulls it out, unwrapping it before taking a bite.

He’d moan if it was the sort of thing he was into. If he concentrates hard enough though, he can hear the angels singing _Hallelujah, praise be to the mighty Erik._

Frost passes him by, clearly having observed the spectacle.

‘You evil fucker,’ she says, giving him a dirty look.

Erik just smirks.

****

  
It’s not easy being Dr Lehnsherr. He’s positive Cassidy’s the one who’s been calling him Evil Dr Porkchops, and spreading it faster than a Syphilis rash. it’s damn hard work.

OK. Well, maybe that’s not true. Being the resident sadist is actually pretty easy. When he’s not hogging the on-call room, he’s working hard to catch people in awkward situations and mocking them for the greater good.

Experience has made him tough. It’s made him pessimistic about everything around him, about how he’s had to work his ass off just to get to where he is.[ The surgeon part, that’s fucking hard.](http://fassyfaceavoythere.tumblr.com/post/7972285098/from-another-cherik-fic-i-read-with-the-lovely) The running low on sleep and having lives depending on you is fucking hard. Resisting developing a God complex is fucking hard. Teaching interns that this is no playground for little kids, that too is fucking hard.

And OK, so maybe if he sticks drawings of himself as a stick figure with scribbled-on hair made by his six-year-old patients onto his fridge, and carries a battered copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ just so things aren’t always fucking hard, well, nobody needs to know about that but him.

****

  
Sometimes, if Erik closes his eyes, lets himself imagine some sort of silence, allows himself to bask in it, he thinks he can hear a voice. A quiet, hushed whisper of words that flows over his skin like a gossamer touch, always relaying random quotes from books that he’s read over time.

Mostly though, it’s Austen.

It’s a hushed litany of words and sentences strung together, on repeat, never-ending and always fucking there.

_"I might as well inquire," replied she, "why with so evident a desire of offending and insulting me, you chose to tell me that you liked me against your will, against your reason, and even against your character.”_

It’s almost worshipful, and if he lets himself, Erik knows it’ll consume him.

_Jesus fuck._

He wants it and yet he loathes it.

It happens while he’s being forced to watch _The Proposal_ with Emma, and that heinous scene comes up where Betty and Sandra are doing some kind of ritualistic psycho dance around a fire. He’s got a fuckton of terrible, utterly terrible gin in his system, and it’s then that he decides he’ll name it his _Austen Muse,_ before passing out on Emma’s shoulder.

The term remains permanently stapled into his mind.

****

  
It’s seven in the morning and Erik already knows it’s going to be a fucked-up day. Emma’s stolen the last cup of coffee, and on top of that, he’s dealing with... _chatty_ _children_ today.

Perfect. Just what he needs.

‘Are you sure this is the right floor?’ a squeaky voice asks him.

Erik looks down at the kid before jamming the button on the elevator harder than strictly necessary.

Goddamn kids are getting brattier with time.

The eight-year-old kid is giving him a funny look – _Emily Jones, he thinks, might be her name_ \- while she sucks her thumb. He pushes the gurney forward so he can get back into place, standing right next to her feet, which are encased in Winnie the Pooh slippers.

‘We have to wait a little more before we get to the right floor,’ he explains.

She’s looking at him like she knows he’s bullshitting her.

‘I think you’re lost.’

He wonders sometimes what possessed him to want to willingly work with children.

The elevator stops again, and Erik’s starting to reach the end of his tether when he spots Cassidy. Ah, good old Cassidy. There was a time when he used to be a good kid in Erik’s eyes, until he spread that vile name around. He wasn’t so good after that.

It’s quite possible Sean is aware of Erik’s desire for vengeance against him, because he stops and hesitates for a fraction of a moment.

Erik gives him a shark-like smile; all teeth, very little amusement.

‘Sean,’ he greets.

The boy pales a little before stepping in, his freckles vividly clear. He smiles at the girl. Sean’s one of the many nurses who seems to get on well with kids. He’s also Angel’s understudy, so that’s a possibility for why he’s trying so hard.

‘Hey doc, where are you going?’ He sounds a little nervous. Good.

‘Eighth floor,’ Erik answers.

Cassidy nods, head moving frantically. ‘Oh good, good, me too.’

The kid butts in. ‘We’re lost.’

Erik rolls his eyes. Dear God, will she ever give it a rest?

‘We are,’ she says determinedly. ‘And I’m missing Arthur because of you.’ She waves her index finger at Erik. ‘DW’s going to find out where her snowball went and I’m missing it.’ She slumps back onto her pillow and Cassidy snickers.

Erik feels like he’s entered a Toddlers and Tiaras episode.

‘You were right.’ She looks at Sean, eyes bright. Erik senses something big is about to happen. Cassidy starts shaking his head frantically. ‘He’s Evil Dr Porkchops. I’m gonna kapow him if I miss it,’ she mutters, scowling at Erik. She then does something funny with her hands, punching her fists into the air and glaring at Erik like a mini would-be-ninja.

Except Erik only has eyes for Cassidy, because this is all the confirmation he needs.  

Cassidy looks like he’s going to projectile-vomit any second. Erik smiles at him.

‘Cassidy,’ Erik says, ‘you know, I’m getting the distinct impression that you’re terrified of something.’

Cassidy is looking alarmingly pale, if that’s even possible anymore.

The elevator pings and they reach their floor. Erik pushes the gurney out. The girl sniffs and sticks her nose in the air. Cassidy’s still in the elevator. Before Erik makes his way down the hall, he leaves him with a few parting words.

‘Cassidy,’ he says blithely. ‘You’re doing rectal exams. All twelve in room 6A, second floor, with Frost.’

‘Oh sweet Jesus, come on, no!’ Cassidy protests as the doors snap shut, the sound of his wail cut off.

****

Funnily enough, Erik’s never really liked Sense and Sensibility. He tried reading it a few times. But he could never quite get past the first page. He can read practically everything by Austen, but that.

It’s odd.

****

  
It’s when he puts the television on, Emily reverently listening to the theme song to Arthur - _And I say HEY! What a wonderful kind of day -_ while Erik’s secretly singing along with it under his breath because he can’t let his badass reputation get fucked, that he sees him.

He’s two rooms away and Erik notices him through the glass. He overhears Hank telling Summers that he’s on labs - _the blond's blushing, he’s always blushing inappropriately_ \- and Frost will check the patient work-ups, but Erik doesn’t agree with that. So Erik turns around and instead he sees him.

Erik only registers the blue eyes at first. It’s hard not to. They’re vivid and so fucking blue even from here, that he can’t quite grasp what’s going on for a moment. The man is looking forlornly at the bed in front of him, fingers fidgeting with something in his hands.

Erik leans in a little closer, nose practically pressed to the glass pane and realises he’s got a book in his hand. Erik wonders what he could be reading. It looks old. It’s then that he senses another presence beside him. It’s Angel. Her nose is definitely pressed against the glass with no sense of shame.

‘That’s Xavier,’ she says, and Erik’s pretty sure her voice has that breathy quality to it. ‘Every girl’s wet dream. Gorgeous, isn’t he?’

Erik doesn’t know what to say. He’s surprised by this conversation. He always thought that Salvadore was immune to the opposite sex. Huh? Maybe she’s just immune to Erik then.

‘I thought Xavier was dead.’

She gives him a reproachful look. ‘That’s the son; it’s his father that’s dead. He’s quite young, actually.’

Erik scoffs at this. ‘He’s probably a self-righteous asshole.’

She shakes her head, her breath fogging the glass. ‘Nah. Don’t believe the shit they say. I don’t think he’s like that. Sean says he comes here all the time to read to the kids and play with them.’

There’s an odd sensation in the pit of his stomach, a sort of downward spiral that he can’t explain. Angel has a dreamy look on her face that makes Erik slightly uncomfortable to witness.

‘Mostly I think he likes to read to them,’ she says after a moment of silence. She leaves him when her pager starts to beep.

He pulls away and notices Angel’s drawn a heart where her breath has misted the glass. He glances at the blue-eyed man who’s thumbing through the pages, before dashing the heart.

****

  
When Erik had first returned from the hospital - back when he was still nineteen and clouded, the world still new and within grasp and him still a fool _-_ there were nights where he’d woken up panicked, body locked into place and mind racing. For a moment he’d think he was back there again, stuck and immobile. Rotting in an unforeseeable way. His body at the mercy of other men.

It would take only a few minutes, only a few hundred seconds before his heart would stop thundering, his skin no longer tingling with fear. But before all that it’d feel like forever until he reached even that point.

There was never a need to try and attempt to sleep on those nights.

It’s only now that he understands why his Mama was so careful, waiting for a momentary lapse in her not-so-subtle way.

Erik doesn’t remember much of it, of losing a part of his life to the powers of time and circumstances. He doesn’t even remember waking up, just the feelings that are submerged somewhere under the layers of his cynicism and disdain.

They’re his perpetual fears.

He’s outgrown it now, it rarely happens. But sometimes, when he least expects it, it’ll rear its head back up, and he’ll find himself jerking awake, heart hammering in his chest, so loud in a room too dark to distinguish where he ends and the darkness begins.

Because sleep is never an option after this, he’ll just shut his eyes and listen to a distant but endearing voice - _Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth belong to any human disclosure; seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised, or a little mistaken; but where..._

****

  
He doesn’t see Xavier.

Angel is sulking while she does a chem-7 and Alex is being ordered to do a tox screen. From her he learns that Xavier has left the building.

Well.

****

  
He starts to pay more attention after this, not that he doesn’t pay much anyway. He likes to spy and gossip in the on-call room with Emma. They have their own little club by the junk food cupboard. But somehow Xavier has passed under his radar.

He starts to rectify this as subtly as he can.

He tries Angel first. Instead of dropping the duty of checking up on her into Hank’s hands as usual, he decides to do it himself for once. He thinks feeding her pick-up lines might soften the difference between them.

First day he tries it out, he leans against the machine as she does a CT scan, and says in what he hopes is a charmingly casual manner, ‘You know Angel, I hope you know how to do CPR.’

‘What, of course I do,’ she snaps back at him.

‘Good, because you take my breath away,’ he says, giving her a shit-eating grin.

It’s no surprise when she throws a clipboard at his head.

Honestly.

****

  
He tries a different tactic after that.

It involves a lot of eavesdropping more often than strictly necessary for any rational and sane being. From this he learns that Xavier is quite possibly twenty-five, but it’s debatable. That according to Alex he wears clothes better suited to an old fart than someone so young - this includes questionably-coloured cardigans, and frumpy sweaters. One of the nurses mentions he might possibly use cherry-flavoured lip-gloss.

'I should know, there's no damn way his lips could be that red naturally,' she'd said.

Emma tells him, while she’s starting antibiotics for a post-op pneumonia, that he may have a blonde bombshell of a girlfriend, though there are rumours it could be his sister. This doesn't sit well with Erik for reasons he won't try to figure out.

‘Incestuous type of relationship possibly,’ she informs him. Then she looks at him curiously for a moment. ‘Why do you want to know?’  she asks.

Casually, he replies, ‘Oh you know, research.’

She doesn’t look convinced.

****

  
He learns a lot about this Xavier, _Charles_ as they call him with such affection that it astounds Erik. They tell him how he looks mostly, how he’s _pretty_ , not handsome, or hot, but _pretty_ , too pretty apparently for a guy who’s at university, when really, he should be busy womanising with his fortune. That’s another thing he learns; kid’s fucking filthy rich.

But most commonly, what they all talk about is how he’s good with children. How he comes in often to read to them, more than he plays with them.

Erik finds this bizarre.

****

When he gets home, and spends a good portion of the time staring at the empty state of his fridge wondering if the yogurt is supposed to be green, his mother rings him.

‘Where have you been?’ she questions, bypassing polite greetings. She’s his mother after all.

‘At the hospital,’ he answers.

He can hear something going on in the background, static maybe, though she’s most likely munching on _Chili Cheese Fritos_.

‘Oh, well, I rang to tell you your cousin’s getting married.’

He dips a finger into the yogurt pot and licks it off, before pulling a face. ‘Hmm, that’s nice,’ he mutters absently, trying to find the sandwich he left the other day. ‘Wait, which cousin?’ he asks quickly, because everyone’s family when it comes to Mama, so it’s hard to distinguish which cousin she’s talking about.

‘Oh, you know, the blonde. The one that we saw at Daniel’s Bar Mitzvah.’

‘Can’t remember,’ he says.

‘She kneed you in the balls when you were younger, you remember now?’ she snaps at him.

He can feel the back of his neck begin to heat up. ‘Alright, alright, I get it. I remember.’ Quite vividly, if he’s to be blunt about it.

She lets out a huff. ‘She wants you to come. Though knowing you, you won’t.’

He rolls his eyes, forgetting that she can’t see him.

‘Anyway,’ she carries on, ‘that’s not important. When the hell are _you_ going to get married, Erik?’ she demands.

Erik should have known she’d bring this up, and it’s even more annoying considering she isn’t even sly about it, choosing abrupt instead. He should know, he’s learnt it from her.

‘I thought we already talked about this,’ he says with a sigh.

There’s some more shuffling. He wonders if she’s in bed watching _Planet Earth,_ David Attenborough’s sedate voice explaining the wonders of hippos mating.

Typical.

‘You think you’ll remain young like this forever? I want grandchildren, preferably before things begin to sag, if you know what I mean,’ Oh god, ‘and unfortunately for you, you’re entirely your father’s child. You don’t have my grace when it comes to aging,’ she says snottily.

He’s about to hang up, because when you’re thirty-one, you shouldn’t even be having this conversation. But then she adds, ‘I got some _borscht_ left over. Get your ass down here if you still want it,’ and then she hangs up.

 _Fuck it,_ he thinks. He’ll endure her nagging in exchange for food.

****

  
It happens the following day.

He’s coming out the elevator, a large-bore IV in hand, when he spots a blonde woman talking to the receptionist _,_ Janos. She’s leggy and has a real curvaceous figure, but it’s hidden under a trenchcoat.

He doesn’t think much of it, passes by her and goes to the children’s ward. It’s after, when he’s coming out after having checked that Summers has done the CBC test on Emily _,_ that he sees the blonde again. She’s leaning against the window to one of the rooms opposite his, peeking into it.

He’s about to turn the other way when she suddenly shifts, her face moving away and facing him.

Later Erik will wonder why the hell he didn’t go, ignore her or even respond to Alex who was standing right behind him, asking him something. But he doesn’t because she freezes when she sees him; it’s as if her joints click into place and she stands rigid, all hard lines. Her face is pale and a gasp escapes her lips, echoing in the corridor.

She looks utterly shocked, and Erik wonders if maybe she’s having some kind of seizure. Except there’s no need to wonder as her body unlocks like a charged, explosive supernova and she’s moving, her bag falling to the floor and Erik realises she’s running towards him.

He feels like he’s in one of those Korean dramas that Emma loves so much.

He can hear Alex say 'what the fuck'behind him, but all he sees is a _RedAlertRedAlertRedAlert_ sign in front of him blazing, because she looks a little nuts.

Her arms engulf his body and she’s squeezing the life out of Erik. He’s about to shove her off of him when he hears a litany of, ‘Oh my God, it’s you, Erik, I can’t believe it’s you, oh God,’ and Erik freezes.

This isn’t what stops his world, renders it to a heartbeat and nothing else. It’s what he hears after that.

There’s a quiet, low voice speaking in a measured tone, _‘It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in....’_ All he can think is, that’s _his_ fucking voice. That’s _his_ voice, which has followed him through the years, through his insomnia and when he was lonely with nothing to hold on to, this was _his_ voice. He pulls her off him and somehow, _God knows how,_ stumbles his way to the opposite room where it’s coming from, because the world has suddenly dimmed to only _his_ voice.

He sees a man hunched over in the corner, dark hair falling into his eyes. When he lifts a hand up to brush it aside, his pale face a stark contrast, Erik learns that his voice wasn’t a figment of his imagination, but in fact it belongs to a living, breathing person as it continues to read, almost like it’s trying to break him, tear him apart.

The blonde’s hand rests on his shoulder as she leans behind him. ‘We searched for you. Charles waited for you,’ she says softly.

The man looks up and Erik finally recognises the blue eyes, on a face that is too pale and flooding with shock and recognition, something Erik cannot return.

This is how Erik finally meets Xavier.

   
****


	3. Chapter 3

****

  
There’s a moment of tense, awkward silence, during which Erik doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say and this, Charles, who’s blinking up at him owlishly, like he knows precisely what’s happening but refuses to impart a few choice words of wisdom to Erik.

It’s an awfully clichéd moment, when Erik thinks about it in an abstract sort of way. This is not how he wants to find certain things out. Like the fact that his imaginary narrative wasn’t really imagination, more like plagiarism.

That something that was his could quite possibly have already been Xavier’s from the start, never Erik’s.

_Xavier._

The kid Erik’s been trying to figure out, who’s instead sitting here reading  _Pride and Prejudice_  to a twelve-year-old who could hardly care. Maybe there’s something he should say, the arbitrary series of rules one tends to follow for the sake of politeness, but Erik’s mind has plunged into shock and a hint of worry. Maybe he’s going mad.

He doesn’t know what the fuck is going on.

The blonde breaks the silence.

‘Charles,’ she begins. Erik is uncomfortably aware of how close she is, practically plastered to his back. Summers has most likely already begun rumours of a ménage à trois. ‘Charles, look who I found. Can you believe it? And you thought I was crazy. I told you I’d seen him around.’ She starts to laugh, though it sounds more like a cackle befitting the Three Witches. ‘He’s a legend around the hospital, you know,’ she adds as an afterthought.

Erik looks at the blonde first. ‘Do I know you?’ he asks suspiciously.

She frowns. ‘Oh, well no, not really. I mean, you wouldn’t recognise us.’ She bites her lip, adds in hesitantly, ‘But I remember you. My brother definitely remembers you,’ she says smugly.

And then Xavier decides to speak at last. ‘I’m sorry, I think there’s been a mistake.’ He quickly rises from his seat. ‘You must excuse my sister,’ he adds in hastily.

There’s something buzzing in the back of Erik’s mind, low and hard. Erik can tell when he’s being fed bullshit.

‘Hold on a minute, I know you,’ he says, pointing a finger at Xavier, because he’d know that voice anywhere, he’s certain of it. ‘I must do, I can recognise your voice,’ he explains, and then realises what he’s said.

Well.

Xavier probably thinks he’s mad now. The blonde lets out a giddy little sound. ‘I mean, you sound familiar,’ he corrects quickly.

‘See, see,’ Blondie says. ‘I’m not wrong.’ Her body seems to radiate excitement, like she’s found her favourite toy, or something equally sinister. Erik’s not a fucking toy.

That’s when Erik hears Angel’s familiar voice of from the corridor. ‘He’s a real stunner alright, that Charles Xavier.’ Erik notes how Xavier turns a delicate shade of red; the blonde smirks at Erik, like she knows what he’s thinking.

Angel freezes when she spots them all, realising the object of her affections has just overheard her. It’s a blur after that, with Angel flushing and mumbling something, Xavier dragging his sister out of the room by the cuff of her sleeve before Erik even realises what the hell is going on.

‘Why didn’t you tell me he was here?’ Angel demands, her pen jabbing him in the chest.

He ignores her and whips out into the corridor, only to see Xavier’s sister pause at the desk while her brother’s back is turned to her. She writes something at a furious speed and then scrunches it into a ball, throwing it in Erik’s direction. Erik catches it as it sails over Hank’s head; she gives him two thumbs up and runs off after her brother.

‘Who the hell is she?’ Angel asks.

Erik flattens the piece of paper out. There’s a series of numbers, and what he assumes to be her name – _Raven._

What catches his attention is the last sentence at the bottom, hastily scrawled out with a heart next to it.

_we used to read to you ♥_

  
****

  
See, the thing is, Erik’s life exists in a perpetual state of order.

He rolls out of bed at six in the morning, depending on when his shift starts. Then he goes about getting his daily coffee fix. While that’s getting ready, he goes out in his boxers to check the mail where he’ll, during most unfortunate days, get thwacked on the forehead by the paper boy - Erik’s damn fucking sure the little asshole’s got a vendetta against him, probably egged on by Logan, their mail man. Sometimes the bastard misses if Erik manages to duck in time.

Every small victory counts at this point.

After that he’s off to the hospital. Occasionally Mama might call, asking him to attend something or another one of their relatives is having. It never fails to amaze Erik how they always find something to celebrate nearly every other fucking day. On such days he’ll make sure to work extra late at the hospital, or go out with Emma instead. He can’t handle all the  _when are you getting married_  questions, and old women trying to knit him socks and measure him inappropriately. Mama always has a sinister smile during these visits.

He spends much of his time torturing Summers and Cassidy at every turn. Trades a few pick-up lines with Angel along the way; oh, and he saves a few lives. That’s how his days go.

Neat, orderly and consistent. He’s in control of it, and if there’s any need to change, he knows where the schedule will need to be altered.

This,  _Xavier_ , however, he thinks with a hint of distaste, puts a wrench in his plans.

  
*****

Mama picks up on the fifth ring.

‘Erik,’ she says.

He looks at the phone suspiciously. ‘How’d you know it was me?’

‘Caller ID, Erik. Modernise yourself a little, for goodness' sake. Now, what do you want?’ she asks.

Erik pulls out a  _Fong’s_ take-out menu, the note from Raven still suck to it. ‘Can’t I just call for a chat?’ he asks, perhaps a little too sulkily.

She sighs. ‘No, you can’t. You’re my son, I know you. So what is it? I’m watching a  _Brideshead Revisited_  marathon here. It better be important.’

Nice to know what her priorities are.

Erik can hear a funny crunching sound in the background and a tragic tune. ‘Well,’ he begins hesitantly. She doesn’t like talking about the time when he was in the hospital. ‘Do you remember when I was, you know, at the hospital?’

It’s quiet on the other end. He hopes she doesn’t burst into tears, he doesn’t think he could handle that. It’s enough having to deal with it through every damn re-run of  _The Sound of Music_  and her sobbing when Captain von Trapp declares his engagement – _oh, poor Maria_. Good God, he’ll die if she’s starts the waterworks over the phone.

‘Yes,’ she says after a while.

Erik’s not sure how to approach the next part. It’s odd and it doesn’t make sense to him, so how would it to her? She’ll probably think he’s going nuts at last, like she always predicted. ‘Was there somebody who used to read to me?’ He sounds nonchalant, like the answer isn’t important.

She’s silent again. It could either be the thoughtful kind, or the one where she’s thinking dodgy things about him.

Erik’s preparing himself to just hang up, when she finally speak up. ‘Oh, well, yes, of course, I remember that. He was some young boy, used to read to you when I wasn’t there.’ She lets out a thoughtful sound, unaware that Erik’s whole body has stilled. He’s amazed he’s still got the phone in his hand. ‘I think he used to read  _Pride and Prejudice_  a lot. Yes, definitely that.’ There’s another crunch, and he realises that she’s eating something. ‘Now that I think about it, he had lovely blue eyes, very handsome if I do say so myself.’ She sighs a little. ‘Why’d you ask? Didn’t I tell you?’

 _No_ , he thinks, a little nastily,  _you most certainly didn't._

 

****

 

Three days pass and Erik conveniently ignores the startling revelation he’s just had about his life. He taunts Summers more than strictly necessary, but the passion has gone out of his jibes. They’re not as mocking as they should be; instead, they fall into the pathetic category.

Summers must realise this as he only shakes his head, pats him on the shoulder, and gives him a slice of his sandwich.

‘Even the great must fall,’ he says with mock solemnity.

****

  
Another two days go by.

Erik does not see Xavier.

He can’t say if this pleases him or not.

****

  
‘It can’t be a tumour. Her CT’s clean,’ Erik explains. They’re in the children’s ward; a nine-year-old kid stares back at them from his bed as they puzzle over his predicament.

Emma gives Erik a quizzical look. ‘Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?’ she asks as she flips through a chart beside him.

He ignores her. ‘Is it an infection?’

‘No it’s not, I’ve checked. What’s wrong with you?’

‘There’s nothing  _wrong_ with me. I’m perfectly fine.’

She rolls her eyes. ‘You’re a lousy liar when it really matters.’

‘Has he got a fever?’ he says instead.

‘No, Erik. He hasn’t got a fever and it’s not an infection.’ It’s silent for a while. He thinks maybe she’s decided to give it a rest, but then she has to go and ruin it. ‘Just tell me,’ she says, and if it was anyone else, it would sound like a whine.  

Emma’s practically his closest friend. If he’s to be blunt about it, she’s his only friend. He gives her a long, hard look. ‘If I tell you, you can’t say anything, or laugh, or, you know, do what I do.’

‘You mean 'be a dick'? I’ll try my best.’

Erik looks up at the ceiling and talks to it, rather than her. ‘You remember when I told you I was in a coma once when I was younger?’ He gives her a quick glance, catches her nod and frown. ‘Well, it turns out somebody used to read to me while I was there. Some kid,’ he mumbles.

‘Oh. That’s nice, I guess.’ It sounds uncertain, more like a question.

He sakes his head. ‘I didn’t know, though, not until a couple of days ago, when I saw him here.’

‘He told you it was him?’

‘No, uh, no,’ he coughs, feels the back of his neck start to heat up. ‘That’s not how it went. I recognised him by his voice.’ He decides to stop staring at the ceiling and looks at her, prepared for whatever she might say.

Instead, she asks, ‘What did he read to you?’

Oh fuck, of course she’d ask the one thing he didn’t consider. Reluctantly he tells her.  _‘Pride and Prejudice.’_

Her lips twitch, and he gives her a warning look. There’s a quiet hum of silence between them. Comfortable he supposes. He’s grateful for it.

‘Who was the boy?’ she asks at last.

He takes a deep breath. ‘Xavier.’

She gives him a look of disbelief, then her lips start twitching again, and she bursts into laughter. The stupid hussy.

‘Oh my God,’ she manages to say, a ominous look in her eyes. ‘You know what this means don’t you? This makes you  _Elizabeth Bennet._ ’

Oh sweet Jesus.

****

It’s on the weekend that it happens. He’s at the library arguing with Azazel, the librarian on the second floor, to check the fucking reservations list again, when he feels someone tap him on the shoulder.

He turns around, ready to snarl at them.

It’s the blonde.

‘You didn’t call me,’ she tells him, hands on her hips.

Erik tries to remember her name. ‘Look, uh, Raven, this isn’t the time for this. I’ve got a book to collect.’

She cocks her head to the side. ‘That’s fascinating, Erik, but you’ve been avoiding me.’

‘I don’t know you,’ he tells her, sounding a little helpless.

She gives him an assessing look. ‘Let’s look for this book of yours.’

Erik follows her reluctantly, feeling like he’s walking to the gallows, and she’s going to start pelting tomatoes at him.

  
****

  
They’re on the third floor, in the  _Classics_  section, perusing the books, when she finally speaks.

‘You wouldn’t recognise us, I mean, I’m nobody to you and that’s fine, I guess.’ Erik avoids looking at her. ‘It’s just, I remember you. You were sort of my favourite person, which is understandable, I was only nine.’ She laughs a little. ‘We used to read to you every day for weeks. I loved it, and so did Charles, though it’s hard to tell with the way he’s been avoiding the hospital like he’ll catch Chlamydia if he breathes the same air as you.’ Her voice rises a notch, angry.

Erik can’t say much, he hasn’t exactly bothered, either.

‘But we were…. lonely, you could say, and it was our favourite thing. Charles loves Austen. He used to read her novels to you a lot.’ She takes a book off the shelf, stares at the cover. ‘You’re not under some sort of obligation.’ She glances at him, a solemn look on her face. ‘But it would be nice to get to know you. We used to worry about you. But then you disappeared, and we never heard of you since then. Charles worried a lot,’ she says quietly, like it’s a secret she isn’t even supposed to know.

She thrusts the book in Erik’s direction. ‘Here, take this, Charles is right over there, three bookshelves away. What have you got to lose?’ she asks, before turning around and moving to the other side.

Erik hasn’t got much to lose, he thinks, as he walks over and spots Xavier in his stuffy blue cardigan and floppy hair, flushed pink as he reaches up for a book that’s too high. Silently, standing behind him, Erik snags the book from above his head and Xavier quickly turns around to find himself face-to-face with Erik.

Erik’s forced himself to be high-functioning in the face of disaster. It’s how he manages to ignore Xavier’s disgustingly blue eyes. They’re too bright, more distracting than his previous assessment days ago.

‘Here’s your book.’ Erik thrusts it into Xavier’s direction, though it’s futile, Xavier’s arms hang limply by his side. It’s as if Erik’s presence will continue to render him into silence, wide in the eyes and fearful in the mouth, skin suddenly pallid.

Erik doesn’t like it.

‘Your book,’ Erik repeats, and this seems to rouse Xavier as he moves forward, hesitancy seeping into his actions, before he takes the book into both hands. Erik absently notes how close they are, the heat of Xavier’s body a mini-inferno.

He smiles at Erik. It’s blurred and not sharp the way it could be. ‘Thank you.’

Xavier looks him in the eye, a sharp contradiction to the way his body moves.

Erik shrugs. ‘You’re Xavier, then.’ He doesn’t really know how else to go about this; the awkwardness is stifling, though he’s not sure what it is that makes him feel uncomfortable. ‘You’re a bit of a celebrity at the hospital,’ he tells him and Xavier blushes bright red. He mumbles something while staring at his feet, and Erik decides he prefers Xavier like this. He seems a little more like  _himself._

‘So, what are you reading?’ he asks, before pulling another book off the shelf from above Xavier’s head. It’s a copy of  _Persuasion._

There’s a subtle shift in Xavier’s body. Through sheer luck Erik catches it, the way he cants his body forward, nods his head a little too eagerly like an over excited puppy.

‘It’s Austen.’ He waves the book in front of them, showing Erik the cover. ‘I thought I’d try  _Emma_. I still haven’t read that yet.’

Erik shakes his head. ‘I never really liked it,’ he informs him, before yanking another copy down. He sees how Xavier presses his back against the shelf every time Erik does this. It’s slightly unnerving.

‘Have you read  _Wuthering Heights?’_

Xavier clutches the books tight to his chest, the blue cardigan clashing hideously with the cover. ‘I didn’t really like Heathcliff. I like  _Jane Eyre,_ Mr Rochester was a fascinating character.’

Erik just stares at him.

Xavier smiles in return; it’s different, more distinct. ‘Come on, I’ll show you,’ he says, walking along the aisle to the other end, while he runs his hands over hundreds of book spines as he blathers on about Mr Rochester. Erik follows silently, watching every book Charles marks with his fingertips.

****

  
[Erik spends two hours at the library](http://fassyfaceavoythere.tumblr.com/post/9105040145/erik-spends-two-hours-at-the-library-listening), listening to the soft cadence of Xavier’s voice as it stumbles over words, stringing together a thousand meanings in a heartbeat. He watches the way he tilts his head when he finds something interesting, the way his bitten-red lips purse in annoyance. How his fingers are smattered with ink and dust as he constantly pushes his floppy hair aside when he gets too excited.

The awkward issue of their past is forgotten in those moments.

Mostly, he listens to his voice.

Erik comes to the realisation that his memory didn’t do it _any_  justice.

****

 

  
When he steps out the library, a pile of books in hand, there’s a smattering of orange and dark shades of pink across the sky, the sun close to setting.

Xavier follows closely behind, a pile of books pressed to his chest, too.

Xavier’s looking at the floor, Raven waving at him from down the street, before she enters a black car. Erik rolls his eyes and decides to take matters into his own hands.

‘I’ll see you at the hospital then,’ he tells Xavier, less a question and more a statement, and the kid smiles at him, nodding in affirmation, floppy hair obscuring his eyes. And before Erik knows what he’s doing, he shifts his books and reaches out, brushing Xavier's hair to the side.

Xavier freezes, and Erik is fucking mortified.

‘Great,’ Erik says hastily before leaving as fast as he can. As he passes the black car, Raven, the cheeky idiot, sticks her head out the window and gives him two thumbs-up and a wink.

_Jesus fuckin’ Christ._

****

It’s as if Charles has been given permission, because he’s  _everywhere._

This little fact doesn’t dawn on Erik until five days have passed by. He’s in the lift with Shaw – the bastard’s been Chief of Surgery for so long, Erik doesn’t think he’ll ever get his hands on the position - and he mentions it.

‘And here comes my favourite doctor,’ Shaw says in greeting.

‘Shaw.’ Erik’s hand twitches around his stethoscope, itching to grab onto something.

‘Xavier’s here, be polite,’ Shaw tells him after a moment of silence, perusing thorough a backdated issue of  _Gardener's World._

The lift pings, and Shaw heads to the nurses' station, magazine tucked under his arm, a smirk in place and aimed towards Emma.

For the first time Erik registers the kid's presence. Erik’d known Charles would be here, it’s having it confirmed by another that makes the knowledge sink deep, unrelenting and waiting for acknowledgment. Because Erik knew, he just didn’t know precisely how often Charles was here. At the end of the day, hearing Angel drone on and on about him, Erik comes to the bitter conclusion that Charles has been at the hospital  _every fucking day_ this past week.

Every time Erik’s in the children’s ward, Charles is lurking -  _actually, no, he’s pretty obvious in his presence_ \- in a corner, reading something to the children, and although at first his smiles are hesitant, after the sixth time Erik spots him he’s beaming, no longer self-conscious and looking awfully pleased with himself. Erik’s aware of how he wants Charles here, for some unknown unexplainable reason. It’s facing the issue that’s hard to digest.

And where Charles is, there’s always a Raven following right behind.

Erik can’t say what’s worse, the flushed face and plush-red lips, or lewd winks and notes thrown into the on-call room with hearts doodled in the corner.

He should have known it would complicate things.

****

They’re getting ready for a discectomy and Summers is the first to say it. ‘Xavier’s girlfriend is smoking hot.’

Erik gives him a droll look. ‘That’s his sister, you childish moron.’

‘Uh, no, the sister’s blonde, this one’s a brunette.’ Erik’s head snaps up, eyes narrowed. He hasn’t heard this before. ‘Sean’s got a huge crush on her,’ Alex continues on, unaware. ‘They look good together. I mean, they were checking out some books-’

‘They were reading together?’ Erik cuts in, unsettled.

Summers looks thoughtful, thinking it through. ‘I dunno. There were a lot of books, though.’

Erik doesn’t know why it bothers him, but it does, and Erik is silently fuming.

‘What’s her name?’

‘Oh, hmm, I don’t know. Moira, I think, but I’m not sure,’

It doesn’t matter. This is all Erik needs.

****

  
Sometimes, when there’s time to wonder, which equals to practically every waking moment when it comes to Charles, Erik will spend sleepless nights thinking about how Charles is here constantly. Doesn’t he have better things to be doing, essays to work on, a dissertation to hand in?

One day, on the way out, Charles silently hands him a copy of  _The Unbearable Lightness of Being_ , unsure yet determined, ‘It’s new, I haven’t read it yet,’ and Erik realises - Charles is lonely, just like Erik.

And what a pair they make.

****

  
Erik’s not one to initiate conversation, so it’s justifiable for Charles to nearly jump out of his seat when Erik says, ‘So, this must be Moira,’ in a neutral tone to the brunette sitting next to Charles.

Charles flushes - he always seems to be doing this every time Erik speaks - and the  _she-devil_ quirks an eyebrow.

‘I’m sorry, do I know you?’ she asks politely, and Erik thinks,  _do not kill her, not now, anyway_.

‘This is Erik,’ Charles says quickly. ‘He’s, um, well, we’ve known each other for a while.’ Erik wants to say, no, we’ve known each other for nearly half of our lives, and alright, maybe he’s only recently met him, but Erik’s more intimately acquainted with Charles’ voice than anyone on this fucking planet. He dares anyone to say they have more than what Erik has.

‘Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Erik,’ she says politely.

He smiles at her, briefly. ‘Charles, I need to see you for a minute,’ he grunts out.

This could be wrong in all sorts of ways, except he’s not overly concerned with that right now. What Erik wants is Charles away from this woman, who’s leaning into him a little too close for comfort, who’s sharing things with him that Erik wants to keep between the two of them.

Charles frowns, confused. ‘Sure,’ he says, getting up, putting some book down -  _he’s probably been serenading her with lines from Mr Darcy, cheating cheater that he is_ \- and follows Erik, who’s leading them to a room that’s hopefully empty. Except there isn’t one, so Erik yanks him by the hand behind the vending machine at the end of the corridor.

‘Who is she?’ Erik asks, well, demands actually.

‘Moira, you just said her name.’

‘No I mean,’ he begins, frustrated, ‘who  _is_  she?’

‘She’s at university with me,’ he says, arching an eyebrow. The pause stretches out long enough to get uncomfortable. Erik starts fidgeting. ‘We’re not together or anything,’ Charles remarks. There’s an uncanny way in which he says this, his startling blue eyes focused on Erik as if he knows this is what’s gnawing its way into Erik’s skin.

Bitterly, Erik can’t help but think,  _why?_  Charles could have anyone he wanted. Yet here he is, spending hours reading to children and getting dragged behind vending machines like it’s worth it, as if any of this matters, and yet. Erik shouldn’t technically care about this.

Charles’ voice lurches him out of his thoughts. ‘Is that what you wanted to know, because I need to go. It’s getting late and Moira needs a lift,’ he explains, like Erik deserves an actual explanation.

‘Right, sorry,’ he mutters.

‘Bye, Erik,’ he says quietly.

It’s only when Charles pulls away that Erik realises he’d been holding Charles’ hand all this time. He presses his forehead against the metal of the machine, wondering what the hell’s wrong with him.

****

  
 _If a woman is partial to a man, and does not endeavour to conceal it, he must find it out_ \- it’s still Charles’ voice, even after all this time, despite how he can finally put a face to the voice. It’s still just as reliable at night when he can’t sleep as it was before.

Two hours later, as he stares at his surroundings, he realises there are new books here, dog-eared and bent, most of which don’t belong to him.

Charles’ property has somehow migrated its way into Erik’s bedroom.

 

****

  
Their conversations go something like this: have you read Jane Eyre yet, she deserves more, Mr Wickham is an utter prick, there are so many motifs spread out through this--sometimes in the middle of the library--I don’t think anyone could love a person as passionately as Heathcliff, he’s finally falling for her--or right outside the hospital as he hails a cab--there’s a new adaption of Jane Eyre coming out, Raven likes the guy who’s playing Rochester.

When Charles, standing next to him in the library, appearing unexpectedly out of thin air, says, ‘Why doesn’t Darcy see that she wants him just as much,’ with a solemn look and wide eyes that make the blue look wicked, Erik quits playing around and admits defeat.

OK.

Well.

Yeah.

Fine.

Fucking fine.

He’s in love with Charles.

 

****

Erik wakes up in the middle of the night, because his toes are freezing cold.

‘Fucking hell,’ he says, the words coming out in a plume of mist.

It’s frigid, the bitter clawing-its-way-into-your-body-and-refusing-to-let-go kind of cold. Dry and clingy. He’s tempted to yank the covers over his head and to hibernate for the next three months like a bear, or something like that, because it’s too cold to venture out.

He has to, eventually. It’s a struggle, wrestling through the covers, and the cold is like a smack in his face. He gets to the window and sees the foot of snow outside; and it’s continuing on, determined to make it to three feet in a few more hours. There isn’t even a road, it’s just a blanket of white.

God. He’s going to have to get through that in the morning.

He’s debating with himself whether he should check why the heating’s not working, or if he should crawl back into bed, when the doorbell goes off like a shotgun in the dark.

  
****

He yanks the door open to find Raven staring back at him.

She gives him an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry about this, but I need your help.’

He’s is momentarily stunned into silence. It’s a first for Erik. What the hell is she doing here? And then, of course, he remembers - if she’s here, then that means-

Charles is at the bottom of the driveway, struggling through the snow, his height making it difficult. He’d find it amusing if there weren’t pressing matters to deal with.

‘How do you know where I live?’ he asks.

‘Hank told me.’

‘Hank doesn’t know.’ Erik shakes his head.

She snorts at this. ‘Of course he does, everyone does.’

She must be up to something. He refuses to believe this.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asks suspiciously.

‘Oh right,’ she shakes her head, snow falling off her hat. ‘We’re stuck. We had to drop Moira off.’  _Ah of course,_ he thinks scathingly,  _Moira._ ‘But the snow wasn’t so bad, so we went ahead, except that’s pretty much the exact moment it got worse. I mean, the highway’s stuck at the same pace for the past hour, and then our car broke down,’ she says, helplessly. ‘Charles thought we could make it, but, well, he’s an optimistic idiot.’

Charles finally makes his way to them, covered in more snow than possible.

‘Hello, Erik,’ he says.

And Erik can’t help but think, t _his is probably the most flushed he’s ever seen Charles._

Raven’s looking beseechingly at him.

Yeah, like he has a choice. As he’s ever had a choice in any of this.

****

He’s never been more grateful that Mama made him buy a house with more than one bedroom.

Raven tells Charles he’ll be taking the couch; she’ll be in the spare bedroom. Erik has to scour the house for extra blankets and pillows. Jesus, he’s never had this many people over, it’s not his fault. Charles is persistent in his need to help, which Erik tries to deflect, but when it comes to blankets Charles is determined.

‘Sorry about this,’ Charles says as Erik is hunting through a closet. He left Raven downstairs trying to figure out if he’s got any hot chocolate, while she’s humming 's _ilver white winters that melt into springs, these are a few of my favorite things_ ', and it’s even more sad that he recognised that.

‘It’s fine.’

‘No. Really, it’s not fine,’ Charles protests.

‘I’m sure I’ll manage.’ Erik grabs something white and fluffy-looking. There are many things that aren’t fine - the constant reminder of what he can’t have, of a boy who read to him in his childish youth, ruining him for all others. These are the things that remain at the top of his list.

****

 _Vanity was the beginning and the end of Sir Walter-_ There’s a knock on his door. For a moment, Erik is certain this must be a dream, an intricate puzzle his brain has warped him into like the ones he used to do as a kid. Until the weight of the truth comes rushing in, and he realises exactly where he is.

There’s a rush of two more knocks, and Erik briefly deliberates with himself if he should ignore it. Perhaps the person will just disappear; but then he realises he left his bedroom door open. He snaps the book shut, looks up to find Charles awkwardly standing in the doorway, knuckles still resting against the polished wood, a blanket clutched in the other hand.

He wants to squint, to make sure it really is him. Miraculously, he resists.

‘I didn’t wake you up, did I?’ Charles asks nervously, voice rough. The silence that stretches is perhaps a little uncomfortable, because Charles doesn’t wait for his response, lets the rest come out in a rush. ‘It’s just I can’t sleep. I tried waiting and,’ he shuffles his feet nervously, ‘I didn’t want to bother you, but there’s something sticking out from your couch, and well, I couldn’t sleep,’ he repeats, looking at his toes instead of Erik.

‘I’m sorry, I’ll just-’

‘No,’ Erik says sharply. ‘It’s fine.’ Charles looks up, assessing his statement. ‘It’s fine, don’t be sorry,’ Erik reassures him.

And then there’s this uncomfortable bout of silence, utterly awkward and suffocating. Erik’s sick and tired of it, to be honest. He decides it’s best to forge ahead, better to get it over with.

‘Do you want something to read?’ It’s all Erik can offer him, the only way they know how to say what they want without actually saying it.

Charles’s head snaps up, body alert. ‘What?’

Erik watches him carefully. ‘You know, do you want to read a book or something?’

Charles makes a jerky movement. Erik assumes it to indicate agreement. He rises from the edge of his bed, pushing the covers aside and moving to the pile of books scattered around, making the place look like a war zone. He grabs his old copy of  _Pride and Prejudice_  that Mama gave him years back, which started his little obsession, and hands it to Charles. He assumes it must be his favourite, considering how much he talks about it.

‘Here, you can read this.’

Charles looks pale all of a sudden. He blinks a few times, mouth forming a silent  _oh,_  before snapping it shut again.

‘What?’ Erik asks.

He clears his throat, licks his lips. Erik pointedly ignores this.

‘Nothing.’

‘Right,’ Erik says doubtfully.

  
****

He must have fallen asleep, because he jerks awake to find Charles has passed out next to him.

Mind groggy, he hesitantly touches Charles’ arm to check if this isn’t just a dream; these kinds of things tend to happen sometimes. When he feels soft flesh underneath his fingertips, he concludes that, yes, Charles is here in his bed, dead to the world with the book half-open on his chest, and mouth half-open, too.

Erik picks the books up and places it on the side, before rolling over and going back to sleep, as if there’s nothing wrong with the situation.

****

 

The next time Erik wakes up it’s to Charles spooning him.

His arm is wrapped around Erik’s waist, one leg thrown over  _his_  legs and the other jammed right between Erik’s thighs. Charles’ breath is coming out in soft bursts against the back of his neck, hot and moist. It takes a moment for him to conclude that there isn’t an inch of space left between their bodies, considering the way Charles is pressed up right against him.

He wants to bury himself under layers and layers of doubt and denial, because his body is thrumming and humming in a way it hasn’t before, and the desire to fall breathlessly into the false reality of his dreams is potent. Erik concludes that this is perhaps the most mortifying thing that could happen to him. He needs to get the fuck out of here, extract himself out of Charles’ vice-like grip. The task, however, is harder than anticipated, because with every move Erik makes to free himself, Charles seems reluctant to let go, murmuring occasionally and clinging as close as he can, and at one point he actually sniffles.

God, Erik wants to die.

He gives up in the end. As much as he wants to escape, moving will mean waking Charles up, and he knows that’ll make the situation even more embarrassing for both of them.

Erik wills himself to sleep, trying to ignore the burn of Charles’ body.

 

****

He wakes up again to the sight of Charles rousing from his sleep. He blinks a few times, and Erik can’t help but notice how vividly blue his eyes are under the light of the morning sun. Charles says ' _oh,'_  in that way of his that always annoys Erik, clearly having realised exactly where he is before the fear creeps onto his face.

_Fuck it._

Erik leans forward, grabs him by the hair and crushes their mouths together.

 

****

Erik had never particularly liked Darcy.

He remembers reading the book and thinking, right from the first mention of this Mr Darcy, that he’d be a dick. By the time he got halfway, he thought, yeah, fully fledged asshole right there. Erik would know, he was one.

But what really cemented this opinion, and Erik can remember it quite vividly even to this day, was that bit when Darcy’s confessing everything in probably the most appalling way Erik ever had the misfortune to see or read and he said- _-Nor am I ashamed of the feelings I related. They were natural and just. Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections?-- to congratulate myself on the hope of relations, whose condition in life is so decidedly beneath my own?--_ that’s when Erik knew. Darcy was a motherfucker.

And even if he might have redeemed himself, made all the other chicks--including Mama, apparently--swoon and sigh, Erik could never really forgive him. The worst part was not knowing why exactly he was annoyed, whether it was because of what he said, or because Darcy had gone and ruined everything. Gone and fallen in love.

Most of all Erik remembers thinking that that wasn’t going to be a problem for him at least; it wasn’t like he was going to recklessly fall in love and forget all the rules.

****

 

Charles lets out this helpless little sound, a whimper and a moan lost together before he wrenches his mouth away, lips infuriatingly red and shiny. It’s his eyes that really get Erik like a punch in the gut, steely-blue like he’s sitting under a mid-winter sky.

‘Don’t you think this is a little fast?’ Charles asks, slightly breathless, though he doesn’t look like he wants Erik to stop.

‘Shut up,’ Erik says, because this is entirely his fault. Then he yanks him back and kisses the corner of his mouth, before diving back in, sucking his lower lip and enjoying the way Charles wriggles against him. It’s the furthest thing from the truth, telling Charles to shut it, because Erik admits, in a moment of honesty, that he loves Charles’ voice just as much as he loves him. But kissing Charles brings a rush to his skin in the way that it tingles and hums as if to say,  _finally, finally you foolish coward, isn’t this what you’ve been waiting for?_

‘It’s just,’ Charles manages, only because Erik has moved down to mouthing his jaw. ‘Most people go out on dates, get to know eac- _oh_ ,’ Charles’ body arches in a graceful curve when Erik bites down, sucks a mark and soothes the sting with his tongue. And then Charles continues on, gasping but still talking. ‘People get to know each other, maybe even see a movie. I mean, you’re supposed to woo me, Erik,’ he says, a hint of indignation in his tone.

‘God, you’re the  _mouthiest_  kid I’ve ever met.’ Erik mutters, pulling him up and wrestling with his shirt.

‘Now is really not the time to call me 'kid', considering you’re about to deflower me,’ Charles says, voice muffled but rather prim-and-proper-sounding while his face is momentarily obscured when Erik pulls Charles’ shirt over his head. God, he even sounds like a heroine from a  _Mills and Boon_ novel.

‘This is all your fault,’ Erik tells him as he removes his own clothing, and then reaches over to his dresser and rummages though the top drawer until he finally unearths a tube of slick and condoms.

‘How is it my fault?’ Charles asks suspiciously in between quick, shallow kisses once Erik has him pressed back against the bed. He can feel Charles shift so that Erik’s thigh is between his legs, Erik’s hand a hot, possessive brand against Charles’ hip.

He can’t help but pull back and just admire Charles, finally see him in a way that he’s never been allowed to, in a way that Erik thought he never would. He’s a maze of never-ending moon-kissed skin, sharp and soft in a way that’s hard to foresee. There’s a patch of freckles hidden across the span of his ribs. Erik finds that his collarbone is sensitive, considering the way he shudders every time Erik purposely rubs his thumb across the sharp jutting bone.

He leans forward, brushes his annoyingly floppy hair to the side, watches the way Charles smiles hesitantly at him with bitten-red lips and wonders, how the hell did he get here?

‘You went and seduced me with  _Pride and Prejudice_ ,’ he says at last, and it sounds so foolish even to his ears. But all that matters is Charles’ laugh, bright and real in a way Erik has never realised it could be, how he is flushed and panting, and the way he whimpers when Erik finally coats his fingers with lube and presses one in, then two and three. It’s a fascinating thing, seeing Charles mumble random things, seeing how flexible he is, the way he throws a leg over Erik’s shoulder and takes the Lord’s name in vain a lot.

What’s not fascinating is learning how pushy Charles can get.

‘Come on, come on, I’m ready,’ Charles says impatiently.

‘Don’t push me,’ Erik growls. ‘You’re ready when I say you’re ready, and you’ve never done this before.’

‘How do you know?’ Charles asks, before he flushes a fantastic shade of tomato-paste-red and then moans rather wantonly when Erik twists his fingers just so. Charles’ hand flies out, grabbing his shoulder, fingers suddenly tangling in his hair, tugging for more. Erik can’t help but smirk against Charles’ thigh, because goddamn, isn’t that something, knowing he’s the only one who’s gotten this,  _and_   _will be the only one_ , he thinks rather viciously.

‘Don’t you think I should be the one deciding how ready I am, Lehnsherr?’ Charles says in a snotty tone, before he wriggles and pushes back on Erik’s fingers, grins when Erik can’t quite suppress the shudder that runs up his spine.

When Erik finally aligns his hips and presses inside, Charles shuts up, if only for a little while. After that it’s a lot of  _God_  and  _more_  and  _come on_ , most of it from Charles as Erik tries to fuck him slow and steady, until he says, frustratingly, ‘Is that it, Erik? Come on, put your back into it,’ in a voice that really shouldn’t sound as steady as it is. Which is round about the time when Erik thinks,  _fuck it_ , grips him by the knee and raises it, gives it to him faster and harder, until Charles' back arches off the bed once Erik gets his hand on his cock and strokes him a few times, until he’s coming, Erik cursing and groaning right behind him.

There’s a moment of utter, blissful silence.

‘So,’ Charles says once he’s got his breath back, and he’s pressed tightly against Erik’s chest. Erik’s arm is wrapped around Charles’ waist possessively like he’s a long forgotten cuddling bear finally unearthed.

‘Good?’ Erik asks, rubbing his forehead against the back of Charles’ neck as he lifts his hand. Erik lets his fingers trail down the side of Charles’ body and, because he can’t stop it, needs it more than he’ll admit, follows the path down to between Charles’ thighs, rubs the pads of his fingers over his dripping entrance and revels in it.

‘Mmm,’ Charles says sleepily. ‘Raven’s going to be a pain.’

Honestly, of all the things.

  
****

 

Raven wears the smuggest of smug smiles the next morning.

Charles is already in the kitchen, mixing something in a bowl that Erik is pretty certain he’s never seen before. He’s wondering if Charles is possibly making muffins or egg Benedict, and if not, then maybe he should subtly hint at it, when Raven waggles her eyebrows at him and lets out a low whistle that sounds awfully filthy, coming from her.

‘Well, well, Erik, you don’t waste time, do you,’ she says.

Charles whips around, flushing fantastically and looking indignant. ‘Raven, you can’t say things like that,’

She raises a brow. ‘But it’s OK for you to have a marathon of wild, flexible sex all night long while I’m forced to listen to it all? Thanks a lot for that, by the way,’ she says, shooting Erik a dirty look. ‘I’ll be sending you the bill for my therapist.’

Charles waves his spatula threateningly at her and she laughs, smacks Erik’s ass when he passes her by, to which Erik flips her the bird. He then corners Charles, lifts him onto the counter and kisses him quite thoroughly, just because he can, because he’s allowed to.

The sound of Raven gagging in the background is also worthwhile.

****

 

For those first few weeks Erik thinks everyone knows, that all the staff at the hospital is aware of the fact that Erik and Charles are sleeping together and how he hasn’t slept at his place for over a fortnight. It leaves him feeling uncomfortable and paranoid, particularly when Angel continues mooning over Charles or over the way Sean comments on his blue eyes.

Emma, of course, knows.

‘You really need to stop smiling. It's beginning to frighten the patients,’ Emma pleads with him one morning, and Erik tries scowling at her - except it doesn’t last long. He’s lost his touch.

‘I can’t help it,’ Erik tells her, eventually, by the food cupboard in the on-call room. ‘It's a great time to be alive,’ he says gruffly.

‘Dear God,’ Shaw mutters from the couch, clearly disgusted.

It’s not that he’s ashamed of Charles, or that he wants to hide him, because he can’t if he tried. Charles is a regular visitor at the hospital the way he always has been. It’s just that it’s too new, too fresh and raw, and Erik wants to nurture and protect what they have in case it’s torn to shreds before they even have a chance. He doesn’t want to share Charles; he’s finally gotten him, and he feels too possessive over Charles to let him get too far. Their story is a decade in waiting; it’s his right to keep Charles to himself.

Whatever they have, they build together. Which means making room for Charles’ cheap books on his shelf, finding his trash obsessively organised and recycled. Keeping in mind when he shops that Charles likes the extra-crunchy kind of peanut butter, and Raven refuses to function unless there’s Cheetos lying around somewhere.

It doesn’t hit him until he finds Charles’ toothbrush sitting next to his, innocent and green, boring and average, but  _there_  like it’s always been there. And maybe it’s daunting at first, because he’s lived a solitary life, and realising that he’s somehow gotten a younger sister -  _because they’re a package deal, there’s no way around that_ \- is slightly unnerving. But it’s the discovery that there are no empty places, no aches and lonely stretches of silence accompanying his existence that are perhaps the most unexpected. When he reaches over in the night, there’s Charles, ever-present and warm and just there, finally.

Though, when Emma tells Erik two months later that Shaw knows, and Charles finds them in a empty room, Erik watching Shaw pensively while Shaw is lying prostrate on the bed, hands stretched to the ceiling muttering, ‘I told you to be nice to him, not that kind of  _nice,_ ’ Erik decides there’s no point in keeping quiet now. It’s a good enough reason for him to finally push Charles against the vending machine the next morning and kiss him senseless, just as Angel starts her daily  _Love Song to Charles: The Sonnets, Volume IV._

  
**** 

   
 _Epilogue_

 

  
Raven is lying on the couch, miserable and sick with a stuffy nose and an abnormally large amount of phlegm stuck in her body.  _God_  it’s disgusting.

She can hear Erik yelling something from the stairs, and Charles leans over and kisses her forehead, brushes her hair out of her eyes. He doesn’t look the same now. He holds himself differently, content in a way she’s never seen him before. It looks good on him.

‘You sure you’ll be OK?’ he asks, worried.

She has enough stamina to roll her eyes and nudge him with her leg. ‘Yes. Honestly Charles, you don’t need to worry. Go, have fun.’

He pulls a funny face at her and starts tucking the blanket around her. She sticks her tongue out in return. They’re going to see Edie, and Charles is terrified, though he won’t admit this to Erik. What he doesn’t realise is that Erik is aware of this and finds it amusing. Neither Erik or Raven disclose this, because Charles is secretly the incarnation of  _Betty Crocker_  and it’ll mean no more muffins and cookies for them once he realises they’ve been fucking around with his sanity.

‘Alright,’ Erik says, appearing in the doorway. ‘I’ve got everything.’ He walks over, ruffles Raven’s hair and whips out a pack of  _Oreos_  the minute Charles turns around. ‘You owe me,’ he mutters and she smiles gratefully at him before stuffing them under the blanket. Charles considers it traitorous, what with him being able to bake epically good shit. ‘Don’t watch too much  _Flintstones_ ,’ which is crap because he’s just as obsessed with it as she is. ‘You need to be sleeping,’ Erik says before he leaves.

She can hear them distantly. ‘You ready for this?’ Charles asks, like Erik’s the one who’s worried.

‘Let’s find out,’ Erik says, clearly amused before the door slams shut.

It’s two hours later, when she can’t sleep, that she shuffles over to Erik’s bookcase where three months ago he made space for Charles’ trashy romance novels and Psychology textbooks. She’s browsing through titles, fingertips trailing over wrinkled spines when she spots something.

She pulls the book out, realises it’s a familiar-looking cover and when she sees the title, she knows why.

It’s  _Pride and Prejudice_. Charles’ copy, the one they lost years ago, and it’s been sitting here quietly, for years probably, unnoticed even now. A sharp feeling hits her in the stomach and Raven’s momentarily blinded, because this was theirs, their childhood encompassed in a few dusty pages.

She opens it, notes how it’s even more deteriorating than it was years ago, and scribbled in the corner is  _CFX_ just the same as the day Charles had written it years ago, lying in their hammock under the heat of a burning sun. She flips though the pages, right to the back and there it is, a sticker of a raven, flaky like someone’s picked at the corners over the years, but still intact, the way she wanted it to be.

And she thinks,  _huh, well_ , _isn’t that funny._

_****_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More art: [Nurse!Sean, Shaw and Erik talking to his mother.](http://fassyfaceavoythere.tumblr.com/post/10486609996/le-sketchdump-i-tried-to-warn-you-from-l-r)
> 
> Oh my goodness. If you have reached the end, you are one excellent mothafuckah. :D Feedback is always appreciated.


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